


Midwinter Wishes

by bluerighthand



Series: Growing Up A Shelby AU [4]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, Tommy wreaking mild havoc over the household, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:18:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerighthand/pseuds/bluerighthand
Summary: It's Christmas with the Shelby’s in 1898. There’s snow, fun school days, family fluff, presents, 3am wake up calls and reluctant carol singing.(And not an Arthur Snr in sight to ruin the mood!)





	Midwinter Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I'm a bit late...but my plan is to just reblog this at a suitable time next year!

_In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan_

_Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone_

 

Polly grinned at her eldest nephews from the audience. Compared to the rest of the beaming choir, Arthur seemed incredibly put out, lips firmly shut, and Tommy looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, and was gazing at the ceiling in hope of salvation. Arthur caught her eye, and she chuckled, gesturing to her smile pointedly. He glared back, until the boy he was sharing the lyrics with nudged him in a reminder to hold the paper up. Arthur’s glare was directed at him for the remainder of the song. Tommy was…not exactly singing, but mouthing something or other. It was a start.

Despite their lack of enthusiasm, they perked up significantly when a) the service ended, b) the choir master presented them all with a chocolate, and c) John got jealous.

“Did you see us?” cried Tommy. “We were on the _stage_ ”.

“I did see you” Polly confirmed, shifting Ada on her hip. Clearly Tommy just liked the limelight. John was protesting loudly about his lack of participation, and to be fair, the choir could have probably done with his volume.

“It’s the school choir, John. You can join when you start your lessons” she explained. That put him off the idea rather quickly.

Now that the school carol service that they were annually forced into was over, Arthur and Tommy only had one more day of school before the holidays. By some Christmas miracle, Mr Roberts was off sick. Tommy didn’t even know it was possible for his teacher to get ill, he’d never even seen the man sneeze, but he wasn’t complaining. Arthur hadn’t bothered coming to school that day, splitting off from Tommy the moment Pol had shut the front door. So it was just him on the walk.

It took longer than usual, as he had to stop and jump in fresh snow every five seconds, but it was fun. He’d thought about bunking too, spending the whole day out here, but his friends had planned a snowball fight at lunch, and he didn’t want to miss it. He was glad he hadn’t.

The substitute ended up being Mrs Changretta, who was the nicest teacher in the school and let Arthur get away with anything. Including just…not turning up. Instead of the usual boring itinerary of maths, grammar and Roberts droning on about how much cleverer his own children were, Mrs Changretta handed them all pencils and paper; telling them to design a Christmas card to give to their families.

Tommy and Freddie pushed their desks together, spending what was without a doubt the best school day of their lives drawing and messing about. Before lunch, Mrs Changretta handed out some delicious homemade brownies. Tommy, Freddie and Danny found a quiet corner of the yard to eat them in, chattering excitedly about Christmas. The Shelby's had the usual thing planned; just close family, but Freddie’s grandparents were visiting (they made the _best_ biscuits), and Danny’s new horse would be arriving on Christmas Eve (a subject that was discussed at length).

The snowball fight, which had started out as just the three of them, ended up involving the whole school. Naturally there were a few other kids throwing them anyway, but when a stray snowball of Freddie’s had hit an older boy in Arthur’s class, he wasn’t about to miss out on some revenge. Apart from Tommy’s slightly sore arm from when Billy Kimber had decided to mix some ice in with the snowballs, nobody was hurt, and they were all waved back into lessons red faced and exhausted.

But with identical beaming smiles.

That afternoon, Mrs Changretta read the class a chapter of A Christmas Carol, and then let them carry on with their colouring for the last hour of school. Tommy liked A Christmas Carol when she read it, if only because the grumpy voice she used for Mr Scrooge sounded suspiciously like that of Mr Roberts.

He did a pretty convincing impression himself, which he planned to use on his siblings when they annoyed him.

School ended, and everyone ran outside, excited to be leaving the iron gates behind for two weeks. Tommy and his friends spent the evening making snow angels and misshapen snowmen in Freddie’s small garden. His mother called them inside for some hot cocoa, and they sat around the fire, happily sipping it and warming their cold fingers and toes. Polly, who had just finished work, had dropped by around eight to see if he was there.

They walked home together, Tommy swinging from her arm and jumping in the snow. More had fallen during the afternoon, topping up the slush with a fresh coat. Hopes of a white Christmas were high this year, and though Polly didn’t want to get the kids’ expectations up, she was dreaming of the same thing.

 

The next couple of days flew by to Polly, who was incredibly busy with Christmas organisation, but dragged for the boys, to whom it seemed the big day would never come. How could time go so slowly? Christmas Eve rolled around, and the kids were practically buzzing with excitement. They couldn’t sit still for a moment, which was both amusing and irritating - depending on which task Polly was trying to accomplish without interruption.

The house was looking festive at any rate. A tiny Christmas tree sat in the living room, decorated with some paper stars that Tommy and John had coloured in. Ornaments adorned the mantelpiece, and Polly had attached sprigs of holly to the corners of the picture frames. Add the familiar sound of the pudding singing in the copper, and it truly felt like Christmas. She thought she’d done a pretty good job on it all, despite having to sort most things out herself this year.

Jane was _still_ recovering from Ada’s birth. It was all that Tommy was worrying about, now that school was finished, and he didn’t have to see Billy or Roberts for two weeks. He loved his younger siblings, especially when he was in charge of them, but he often missed the times before John and Ada were born and his mother was healthier. He didn’t remember much, but Arthur did, and Tommy knew he felt the same.

“Is Mama gonna eat Christmas dinner with us?” he asked Polly at lunch time, poking at his boiled egg with his fork.

“Of course” she said. “She’s got to help me make it”. Tommy nodded, satisfied with this answer, and slipped out of the kitchen before his aunt could berate him for not finishing his meal. Polly picked up the egg-cup with a sigh, adding it to Arthur’s plate. She really hoped Jane would be able to make dinner with her, and enjoy the celebrations, but her health was so up and down she wasn’t so sure. She’d said she’d been feeling better of late, but there were still several hours to go before Christmas Day. Polly knew she was thinking gloomily, but that was plenty of time for something to go wrong. The kids looked forward to this day all year, she didn’t want it ruined by illness or burnt potatoes.

They usually had a stocking filled with a couple of small toys, bought second hand or built by Santa Claus (aka Uncle Charlie). This year Polly had managed to haggle, barter and steal (not that she’d told Jane about that last one) her way into getting two gifts for everyone.

On top of that, Charlie had just enough time to make some wooden toys: a soldier for Arthur, a horse for Tommy, a train for John and some alphabet blocks for Ada. He’d even painted little details on them, and Polly felt a little bad that Santa was going to get all the credit for his hard work.

She was drawn out of her thoughts by Tommy appearing in the doorway again, clutching something behind his back. He was attempting to school his face into something neutral, but as he was almost jumping up and down with excitement, the surprise element was slightly lost.

“Mama said I should wait till Christmas Day, but I _can’t_ wait anymore” he said.

“What have you got there?”.

“Merry Christmas Aunt Pol” said Tommy, proudly holding up the card he’d made at school.

“What’s this?” she gasped, pointing to the drawing. Tommy pulled her to the sofa, eager to explain.

“That’s you” he said, gesturing to a pink blob with dark squiggles for hair, “and that’s me, and Arthur and John”.

Three smaller blobs. Bless Tommy, he was sharp as anything for his age but drawing really wasn’t his strong suit. There were some spider-like creations which she assumed to be snowflakes, but the rest of the drawing was pretty much a mystery.

“Where’s Ada and Mama?”.

“They’re on the roof” said Tommy, pointing. So they were. She opened the card, reading the message inside.

“Thank you Tommy” she said, pinching his cheek. “Who’s this, daddy?” she asked, finding another pink blob inside the card with a downturned mouth.

“No, that’s Mr Scrooge. Mrs Changretta said I should make it more Christmassy”.

 

Dinner was a strange frugal affair of some lard and a bit of carrot, but the kids didn’t complain, too excited about hanging their stockings by the fireplace, and tomorrow’s celebrations.

“Are we having mince pies tomorrow?” Arthur asked eagerly, as if he hadn’t pestered Polly with the same few questions for over a month now.

“Yes, we’re having mince pies”.

“And a goose?”

“A _little_ bit of goose” she reminded him. The Shelby’s and four other families down the lane had split the cost of a goose, and would be dividing it between them. They’d each get a small portion, and they didn’t bankrupt themselves, which seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. As Mrs Brice had beaten everyone else to the butcher’s that morning, she was in control of the thing. Polly made a mental note to send Arthur round early to collect it, otherwise she had a feeling their quarter would be mysteriously disappearing around mid-morning.

The snow thickened, and the weak light outside quickly faded to black. Against her better judgement, Polly added one more log to the dying fire. The stack was greatly depleted, but it had to last at least another week or two. Despite the chill, and the boys’ disappointment at being shut up indoors, they all brightened when Jane appeared in their room, ready to join the hunt to find stockings. Polly shot her a few sideways glances, but she seemed genuine, not just putting on a brave face for the kids. She could only hope it would last until tomorrow.

“Tommy, how have all your stockings got holes in them?” said Jane, holding up a ragged thing that vaguely resembled the shape of a sock. Tommy shrugged, before realising the implications.

“Does that mean Santa Claus won’t leave me anything?” he cried.

“Yep” said Arthur. “You’ll get nothing. He probably won’t bring you anything next year either, for ruining all your socks”. Tommy stuck out his tongue, but quickly looked to his mother for confirmation.

“That’s not true is it Mama?”

“No sweetheart, your brother’s just teasing you. I’m sure we can stitch this up a bit…somehow”.

“This one doesn’t even have a foot!” said Polly, pulling out the offending item from the depths of Tommy’s clothes draw.

“Good God”.

Once they’d found a solution to Tommy’s stocking problem: stealing one of Arthur’s, they hung them above the fireplace, Pol lifting John up so he could reach. Tommy, of course, insisted on being independent, and dragged a chair all the way in from the kitchen to hang his on the wall by himself. John got to hang up Ada’s stocking on her behalf, which was another old one of Arthur’s. Clearly only one Shelby could keep his clothing intact. Either that, or by the time they were handed down to John the garments had all but given up.

Later that night, Jane had taken them down and sewed the children’s names in red and green thread into the stockings, adding little snowflakes details. She figured they should have the same ones every year, to spare any future socks being stretched by presents or enthusiastically swung around in the morning.

 

It of course took far longer than usual to get the kids in bed. First they had to leave whiskey and a biscuit out for Santa, plus a carrot for the reindeer. Then Tommy insisted on “checking the chimney”, just to make sure Santa could get down. Jane hadn’t realised this meant actually climbing up inside it until it was too late. So then there was water to boil, a bath to run, and a lot of soot to sweep up.

Polly had disappeared off to church, so she was no help, and by the time Jane had put Ada to bed and managed to contain the boys in their bedroom, it was far later than it should have been.

“Where’s Pol?” asked John, as she tucked him in, the relaxing sounds of Arthur thwacking Tommy with his pillow in the background.

“She’s gone to Midni- Thomas Shelby don’t you dare!” she cried, raising her voice. Tommy lowered the lampshade.

 “She’d at Midnight Mass. Now, your brothers are being silly aren’t they, so you can choose the story”.

“Night Before Christmas!” cried Tommy, shoving Arthur off him and scrambling under the covers. “Because…it’s the night before Christmas”. John agreed, so Jane grabbed the book from the small stack she’d brought. The magic of the Christmas Eve story had set in, and finally, _finally_ there was quiet.

 

_'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house_

_Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse_

 

She looked at them pointedly. “That better be true of our house tonight ey?”. Three pairs of innocent eyes stared back at her. “You’re gonna stay in bed, like you’re supposed to?”. John nodded. “Arthur? Tommy?” she said warningly. “Santa won’t leave you anything if you go wandering about”. They nodded in resignation. There seemed to be an awful lot of conditions to meet to get these presents.

By the time the poem had ended, John was asleep, and Tommy was at least trying; his cuddly horse clutched to his chest and his eyes squeezed shut determinately. Jane placed the book on the side carefully, rising to turn off the light.

“Mama?” whispered Arthur, sitting up in bed just before she left the room.

“Mm?”.

“Is dad coming home tomorrow?” he asked, voice hopeful. Jane sighed, eyes flicking over to Tommy, whose forcibly deep breathing had tapered off into silence.

“I don’t know, Artie”.

“Okay” he said, trying to be grown up about it, but unable to stop his bottom lip jutting out. Jane edged back past John’s bed, ruffling Arthur’s hair.

“We’re still going to have a good day, whether he comes or not, yeah?”. Arthur nodded sadly.

“Hey” she said, “don’t make me tickle you”. A smile. “Let’s get some sleep, ey? See what the morning brings us”.

 

Polly didn’t like to guess what the time was, but the muffled whispers and the squeak of her door handle, followed by two sets of footsteps tiptoeing into her bedroom told her it was too early to be awake. Where on earth did they think she got her energy from?

“Aunt Pol, wake up, wake up!”. She groaned, reluctantly poking her hand outside of the duvet cocoon to feel for her watch. Squinting at the time in the weak light from the hallway, she dropped her head back onto the pillow with a thump, resisting the urge to let out a loud yell of frustration.

“It’s three o’clock in the bloody morning Arthur” she hissed instead, trying to keep her voice low. Ada had already woken up once that night, and if anyone else made her get out of bed again she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions – Christmas, or no Christmas. “Go back to bed”.

“But Aunt Pol, it’s _Christmas_ ” said another small voice. She felt small hands tugging on her duvet, cold air hitting her skin.

“Thomas, go to sleep. And turn that light off. Santa Claus doesn’t leave presents for-”.

“He’s already been” said Tommy loftily.

“He’s not even real” Arthur countered.

“ _Arthur_ ” she chastised. “He is real Tommy. But you better not have peeked”.

“I didn’t!” he said guiltily. Polly groaned again, despairing that she’d actually been drawn into conversation so early.

“ _If_ you’re not in bed by the time I count to three” she started, the boys already scrambling for the door. She’d used this threat before, and thank God it still worked. She wasn’t sure what she’d say when Arthur was too old to believe her. “Christmas is cancelled. No presents, no dinner-”.

“We’re in bed!” Tommy called from down the hall. Needless to say, Polly didn’t get much sleep that night. The boys were back again at five, this time accompanied by John, who toddled straight over to Ada’s cot and pulled her hair through the bars. Ada’s screaming woke Jane, and by six the entire family was up and downstairs, the adults having given up on sleeping.

They would survive on wine and micro naps.

 

The morning was just as it was every year; complete chaos. The boys tore into the living room and rushed to the fireplace, jumping up to grab their stockings. Arthur and Tommy launched onto the sofa to start tipping out the contents, as John gazed up his own stocking longingly. Polly fetched it down for him, and he plopped to the floor, letting out a delighted shriek when he saw his train. Ada was half asleep again, but perked up at the sight of her new bear, reaching out to take it from her mother.

“Look” whispered Jane, pointing to the plate with a few crumbs on, and an empty glass. “Santa Claus has eaten what you left for him”. Tommy’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ shape, and he galloped his new horse across the rug to get a closer look.

In reality, Polly had downed the whiskey, and they were pretty sure it was really John who ate the biscuit, but he hadn’t seemed to have made the connection, and was as excited as Tommy. The yells of delight and cheering continued.

Ada had turned her attention to the wrapping paper, tearing the tissue up into strips and throwing them up into the air, or happily patting them into little paper balls; foiling Pol’s plans to keep it for next year.

Jane nudged Polly’s arm and nodded towards John, who was about to open a present they’d laughed about when they bought it for him. John wasn’t quite as pleased, half jumping out of his skin as the Jack-in-the-box had popped up. His lip quivered for a second, before he burst into tears.

“Oh now” Jane cooed, scooping him up, unable to help her stifled laughter. Arthur, who had also jumped but was now trying to cover it up, pulled the offending toy away from his brother, and Tommy handed John his cuddly horse (Colin), who had accompanied him downstairs.

John had decided that the rest of his stocking was too risky to look at, and that his brothers’ toys looked far safer, resulting in loud protests as he attempted to steal said items. They were used to sharing everything. Though these toys would certainly all be shared out and played with together in due course, it was special to open something that could be _just theirs_ for a little bit. Jane had taken John upstairs, shooting over-exaggerated secretive looks at Polly. She laughed, but watched them leave curiously.

Did this mean _she_ had a present too?

 “Does Father Christmas like some kids more than others?” Tommy asked. She frowned slightly, and began to shake her head, but Tommy continued. “Because last year he gave Greta a dolls house, a huge rocking horse and-”, he coughed, “heaps of other things that can’t even fit in a stocking!”. He hugged his small wooden horse to his chest, thumb stroking down the carved mane. “I really love my horse, so he still likes me a bit”.

“He likes everyone the same” said Polly, struggling to find more of an explanation.

“Is it because I’m bad? Or because we’re poor?”.

“Both” supplied Arthur unhelpfully. Tommy considered this.

 “Some people have lots, and some people don’t. It doesn’t seem fair”. Polly sighed, shifting Ada on her hip. He was getting too wise for his age, that one. This was probably the last year he’d believe in Santa, she realised sadly. She looked down to see Ada nibbling on her bear’s ear, and grinned. Just because they didn’t have much, didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the day.

 

John peered round the door, gesturing to Polly excitedly. Leaving Ada with the boys, she followed him up to her bedroom. Her nephew opened the door, before dashing off downstairs again, and leaving Polly slightly nonplussed on the landing.

“This is all very mysterious” she said. Jane shot her a knowing smile from her place on Polly’s bed.

“Have a look behind the door”. Polly did as she was told, unzipping a white cover to reveal…a dress.

“It’s…it’s beautiful” she breathed. The dress was a pale pink, trailing down to the floor with white and cream feathers decorating the straps. She’d look like a woman of substance, and class. And money. “We can’t afford this, can we?” she asked sadly. Something like this would fetch a pretty price if sold, and feeding four kids was the priority. Funny, when she’d been a kid it was always the adults who came first.

“It’s from your mother”.

“What?” said Polly, spinning round to face her. Her mother had died when she was twelve. She had a few photographs, and a curl of her dark hair tucked into a locket, but she’d never heard of her leaving her a dress before.

“I think she stole it” chuckled Jane, “from one of the houses she was cleaning. Put it away. I wasn’t sure when to give it to you, it was far too big before, but we’ve had a hard year, and-” she paused, smiling in slight disbelief, “you’re all grown up now”.

Tears sprang to Polly’s eyes, and she was still for a moment before hugging Jane gratefully, careful not to hurt her or squeeze too hard.

“Thank you” she whispered.

“You’re welcome sweetheart. You’re going to look beautiful in it” she pressed a kiss to her hair before releasing her. “Might be a bit big, but I’m sure we can alter it”.

“No, it’s perfect” said Polly, returning to the dress and running her hands down the fabric. “If I ever get a portrait painted, you know, one of those big fancy ones in the gold frames? I’m going to wear this”.

“It would be a masterpiece” Jane laughed, and Polly felt a little foolish for her idea; of course she was never going to be able to afford that. But, it was a nice thought. They both grinned at the sound of pattering feet down the corridor. “Come on, we’ve still got a busy day ahead of us”.

 

“Lunch now?” Arthur called, hovering by the kitchen door. The heavy snow had eased off slightly over the course of the morning, leaving a fluffy white blanket across Small Heath. Jane was busy in the kitchen, some cold food already covered by bits of cloth and waiting on the table. 

“Don’t even think about it” said Polly. “Church first, lunch second”.

“What’re we doing?” asked Tommy distractedly, half way through the important task of introducing his new horse to the rest of the herd. He had quite a few now, mainly because it was the only toy he ever asked for. That and wooden guns.

“We’re meeting Uncle Charlie, and then we’re going to church” she said, taking their coats down from the pegs. Tommy groaned, and dropped his head onto his arm, a couple of horses falling over in sympathy.

“Why do we _always_ have to go to church on Christmas Day?”.

“Tommy, you know what Christmas celebrates, don’t you?!”

Once they’d survived the church service (by hiding small toys in their coat pockets and gradually slinking down between the pews to play with them), they were all banned from the kitchen while Polly and Jane prepared the meal. Uncle Charlie, who was also banished, got the fire going, before giving Tommy some apples to feed to the horses as a Christmas treat. By the time he jogged back home, cheeks red from the cold, hot food was steaming on the table.

“We’ve got crackers!” Arthur shouted, holding one aloft. Excited screams from Tommy and John followed, the former jumping up and down in anticipation.

“We’ve never had crackers!”. Jane nodded her head to her brother pointedly.

“Thank you Uncle Charlie” they chorused, eagerly rushing to their seats. It was the best meal of the year by far. There was more laughter and joy around the table than there was on any other day. Arthur went a little quiet towards the end, and Polly watched as his longing gaze flicked between the front door and the telephone. Charlie noticed too, and after some extra slithers of goose found their way onto his nephew’s plate, he was soon smiling again.   

The afternoon found Arthur and Tommy deeply engrossed in a spinning top competition on the kitchen floor. There was even a scoring system involved, scribbled down on the inside of a cracker. John attempted to join in, though seemed to think the aim was to stop the spinning rather than have the longest time, which didn’t go down too well with his brothers. There was much laughter and -on Charlie’s part- singing as they cleared away the plates. He knew his sister was watching the phone too. It didn’t ring, but no matter.

This was all the family they needed.

 

\------

 

Polly shifted Ada more comfortably in her arms, and smiled. This was one of the best parts of Christmas. The sky was dark outside, the fire was roaring, candles twinkling softly on the mantelpiece. The little ones were sound asleep, and the older two were quietly enjoying their presents. Arthur was drawing with his new pencils, and Tommy was playing with Arthur’s soldier, although it looked more like a gymnast with the somersaults he was putting it through.

She sipped her wine, and thought once again of her mother, and the beautiful dress hanging in her room. Once the boys had been persuaded to brush their teeth and get ready for bed, she read all them the Christmas story – the real one. By the time the baby Jesus had escaped from Herod, Tommy had asked about a hundred questions, and though Polly was going slightly mad she answered them all as patiently as she could before saying goodnight.

“Can _you_ read us a story too?” Tommy asked, as Jane pulled the covers up to his chin.

“Another one?” she exclaimed, pretending to consider it.

“Please Mama, it’s Christmas!” said Arthur.

“Alright then, if it’s a short one, it’s way past your bed time”.

“The Night Before Christmas” said Tommy, passing her the book.

“Again? It’s the night _of_ Christmas now”.

“Please! It’s our favourite”. And how could she say no to those little faces.

 

_But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,_

_Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 I hope everyone who celebrates had a wonderful Christmas! xx


End file.
